I've just spent 16 days in Costa Rica absorbing the sun, the rain; coast, volcanoes, rain forest, birds, animals, reptiles, insects, friendly Ticos and embracing an atmosphere of hope. I was so aware that there was a radiating proud passion exuding from all who wished to share the magic of their homeland with me.

This holiday season is always a time of ritual, sometimes religious, social or familial. As one's life changes, so new rituals are born. There are two which are fairly constant for me. I tend to see more movies at this time of the year than at any other time and I try to take in one on Christmas Day. The other is to visit the festive display in the Conservatory in Allan Gardens in Toronto. The park flaunts many old trees and there is a very busy off leash dog area. But centre stage are the glass houses filled with plants and trees, fish, amphibians and reptiles. On New Year's Day I entered, yet again, the Victoria style circular Palm House with its massive bananas, bamboo and screw pine. On display are roughly 40 varieties of poinsettias. This season's topiary displays are in the form of a skater and a tobogganer.  

It is September. I love this time of year in the garden, pruning, dead heading, collecting seeds and picking vegetables. Then I sit on my shaded patio where dappled light filtres through tree branches, a cup of tea by my side. I plug in the water pump and my waterfall drops into the 12 foot river which then descends into the underground reservoir where the pump sits, to move the water back up.

Allan Gardens is one of those beautiful public spaces in down town Toronto. Trees, grass, benches and off leash dog park on the outside and a 16,000 sq ft conservatory where tropical plants live, water falls, turtles and gold fish swim and seasonal flowering plants are constantly, lovingly, changed.

I'm looking out my study window on a cool wet September day. I see my garden in its mature mantle. The veggie patch showing the decline of tomato and beans foliage but the abundant vibrancy of Brussels sprouts. I see my beloved dahlias. Closer to the path are immaculate sturdy blooms in pink and red, yellow and orange of seeds I planted in the spring. They too are among my favourite flowers. However, their name completely eludes me. It will come back. But it saddens me to know that inside of me there is so much more, that may never get out. Merrily I reel off the names of marigold, euphorbia, brugmansia; I see the yellow potentilla bushes, hostas and my green wooden wheeled wagon filled with pots of herbs. I see the cedars, yews, spruce and Japanese maple; the healthy lilacs and forsythia waiting to flower next spring.